


You Still Like Him.

by ToodleOfDeeth



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Fluff, M/M, POV First Person, Worksafe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:12:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2603084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToodleOfDeeth/pseuds/ToodleOfDeeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Despite him always dissing you, calling you an idiot and him being obnoxiously big headed. You still like him.</p><p>You half think he likes you too. You secretly hope he finds you endearing because very word that falls from his soft lips are to you. See, he kind of hates you, but you can’t help but question if it's going to end up like you’d always dreamed of, with soft kisses, little giggles and the feeling like you’re flying."</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Still Like Him.

Despite him always dissing you, calling you an idiot and him being obnoxiously big headed. You still like him.  
You half think he likes you too. You secretly hope he finds you endearing because very word that falls from his soft lips are to you. See, he kind of hates you, but you can’t help but question if its going to end up like you’d always dreamed of, with soft kisses, little giggles and the feeling like you’re flying.  
It probably won’t, but you can always hope, huh?  
So, you know how mining isn’t really an issue for you now? Not so much for him, and his mining thing is broken without the materials to fix it.  
So here you both are, in a hole, surrounded by low light and with not much space to move. You’re both chatting, throwing half true insults at one another and attempting to find some kind of ore you can barely remember the name to, let alone how to spell it. You would ask him again, but that would be the third time that hour and you don’t really want to face his attitude problem again. It’s honestly cute when he swears at you, a half mumble under his breath that he doesn’t realise you can hear. It makes you smile despite the little effort you use to get that reaction. You think maybe he likes the attention.  
You spin when he lets out a little yelp, wanting a distraction from the endless and mindless digging.  
He’s in a hole, not really a deep one but one he can’t get out of easily. He’s yelling at you to get him out, but you can’t hear him over the cackles of laughter that would never be appropriate in one of his meetings. You swear he full out squeaks when a few loose pieces of gravel fall onto his sandy blond head. That just makes you giggle louder, and you just know he groans at your antics in frustration, but you can’t bring yourself to care.  
Eventually you calm down a bit, enough to answer quickly to his insults but slow enough for him to get frustrated and say you’re wasting time. With one last wistful sigh you dangle your arm- the one without the pickaxe- for him to grab.  
Once does you attempt to pull him up, but you’ve never fully felt his weight before and, well, you fall ungraciously on top of him in a pile. Those fucking loose rocks didn’t help either.  
He does quiet for a moment after you fall on him- you assume he’s winded- and if your head wasn’t buried in his neck you’d probably make a comment about how this was the only reason he shuts up.  
Then you realise its not his neck you’ve nestled into, you’re kissing him right on the lips.  
Oh for fucks sake.  
You lift your head away from his lips in shock more than anything, not really reluctance because then it would be slow, but it’s definitely not as fast as disgust.  
Your hands are either side of his head, clutching dirt that’s just as dry as your mouth. He’s obviously shocked too, but slowly regains his composure. He doesn’t move his hands from your hips, his thumbs in the hollows of your lower back, just above your arse.  
About now is when you expect the comment, then the shove on your shoulder to tell you to fuck off and get up. That doesn’t happen. You look into his eyes and only really notice now how beautifully green they are, or how soft his cheeks look to hold, or even how his mouth is slightly open, moving, with his teeth reflecting the torch light.  
Oh wait, he’s talking, better fix that.  
You slide your hands though the dirt, knowing the little stones and rocks will cut your hands but you cant bring yourself to care. Your elbows are just below his armpits now, and your slightly scuffed hands are on him, one on his chest and the other tilting his chin up. He’s pinned, and goes quiet. You choose that moment to kiss him softly, hoping he wont run away.  
His lips are so soft and slightly cold on the tip of his upper lip. His nose is just on your cheek and that’s cold too. One of his hands runs up to your hair and tentatively grips it. You let out a low chuckle and you swear he shivers against you. You pull away to take in his flushed scarlet features and his dishevelled blonde hair.  
“What the hell-“ he starts but stopped to swallow, “Parvis.” It’s a statement, not a question, not a refusal, not really a reason to stop. He keeps going on but you don’t honestly care, only focusing on his hair that looks so soft to grab, his little nose and his slightly pointy ears.  
“Will?” you ask, voice slightly horse form all the little bits of dust floating around and sticking to your dry throat. You lock eyes with him, and he stops talking, settling with just watching you roll off of him so he can sit up on his elbows.  
“What Parv?” his voice is deep, creamy like chocolate but not irritated like you’d expect. He looks down on you as you lay on your back and you swallow again.  
“Um, Will, I think- I mean-“ you sigh in frustration as you trip over your words. “Well, what do we do now?” he beats you to it, “ are we just going to sit here in the dust?” he stands up, taking care not to kick dust into your face, “Or are we going to do something about this?”  
He offers you his hand and you grab it, your freakishly long fingers wrapping around his wrist. You can feel his pulse. His other hand wraps around yours, too. You get pulled up (you’ve got to remember that later, two hands and fingers around wrists). He dusts his back off, straightens his waistcoat and jumps to grab the ledge of the hole. For such a short guy, he’s surprisingly agile and with a huff, pulls himself up. You try to do the same.  
Key word try, but just before you fall onto your ass for the second time today he grabs you and pulls you up, similar to how a mother cat grabs its kittens by the back of the neck.  
You address his last question. “What’d you mean by ‘do something about it’, Strife?”  
You’d love to have a straight answer, but the smile he gives you answers your question and makes your legs turn to jelly. Looks like dreams really do come true.


End file.
